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Last week, the bluejays outside my door had to play dive-for-breakfast, as the peanuts I threw from the porch disappeared into the soft fresh snow. This morning, the shells clattered and skid across the top of what has become white ice, the sound sending the jays into a squawking frenzy.

Snow is like love, I have decided this morning. It begins as a soft, quiet thing, magical in its serenity and beauty. But come the rains and a bit of frosty air, and it hardens into something almost impenetrable.

You could feel it in the air, even inside the house. It was snowing outside. I turned on the porch light to see the amounts that already had fallen. I put my nose to the window and just watched.

The snowflakes were so large, like a multitude connected together in symphony; falling together from the sky above.

I watched them drift down to the ground below me, delighted.

I lifted my head to the sky above. Like flashes of white fire darting from above me, did the snow appear to come.

I felt like a little girl. "Boys, come see this," I said excitedly. Each one came in and did the same, pressing their noses to the cold window. Delighted they were, just as I was. Glorious snow, falling from above and creating wonder in our eyes.

"Ray, come see this. You have to see this with me," I told my husband. He came in, standing behind me with question, not truly grasping the definition of delight in my voice, in my imagination or on my face. Questionable understanding.

Rolling his eyes as he gently walked away, I saw him smile. It wasn't the snow falling that he took delight in. No, he found appreciation for the little things. Not the simple snowflakes, but the simplicity of delight created within me. He appreciates me.

~ Yes, indeed, this one is true of my life. It was only last week ;o).

I wore a set of longjohns underneath my jeans and had my uncle's wool navy watch cap on my head; my mom cut two eyeholes in it so I wore it down to my neck and she wrapped a scarf around it and tucked it in to my coat. She wouldn't let me go outside without making sure I was dressed properly.

It was cold outside, but no wind. Snowflakes--big, heavy ones--fell so thick I could barely see my friends on the levee not 100 yards away. I ran out the gate, my warm breath condensing on the inside, wetting my lips.

My American Flyer sled flew down the levee dozens of times, faster than the others, and the snowflakes coated my eyebrows. It was always wet snow in southern Illinois, not the powdery stuff, since we were so close to the river, and snowballs were easy to make. Lifesized ones, too. We had a great time, zipping down the hill, running back up, zipping down again, repeat...snowballs flew at the moving targets, but no one got hurt today.

By the time mom called me I was wet, shivering with the cold, my nose beginning to run and to freeze despite the wool. I was glad she called, and I left my friends to go in for some hot chicken noodle soup. What a great morning. I prayed it would keep snowing so I could go back out after my clothes dried and the soup warmed me up. Unless I was hurt, mom would let me. So if I was sore, I never let her know it. It was fun when I was a kid.

Now I'm in southern California...and the snow is above 4000 feet. Can't quite run up that hill at all! But I remember the taste and feel of the snowflakes of my childhood. I wish I could go back to that levee of so long ago.

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